


Torture

by wheel_pen



Series: Agent and Doctor [10]
Category: The Bourne Legacy (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy’s mission was to be caught, tortured by the enemy, feed them misinformation, then escape home. Well, mission accomplished. But Rachel is more concerned about the lingering physical and emotional effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Torture

Tuyen blinked quickly to focus his eyes on one of the monitors before him. He though he’d seen something, though now the screen showed only the expected, empty room. At another job he might have dismissed it as a mere shadow, but at _this_ job, there was little tolerance for mistakes, so he brought up another view with a few taps on his keyboard.

And after staring in shock at the screen for several seconds, he picked up his phone and pushed a button he’d never pushed before.

“Director Quarles, there’s something you should see here,” Tuyen reported, trying not to stammer.

“ _G-------t, man, that kind of line is only for the movies_ ,” Quarles snapped irritably over the intercom. “ _Now tell me what the problem is!_ ”

“Jeremy Green is in Dr. Ward’s exam room,” Tuyen replied quickly. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Uh, Director?”

“What the h—l do you mean,” Director Quarles demanded, appearing behind Tuyen and startling him, “Jeremy Green is in the building?!”

Tuyen nodded towards the picture he’d put front and center on his bank of monitors. Dressed all in black, Jeremy Green was assiduously securing the perimeter of the exam room, which appeared to have no one else in it.

“I said I was to be alerted when Jeremy Green returned!” Quarles reminded the man next to Tuyen sharply. It wasn’t really Halvard’s _fault_ , but it was now his problem.

“He never hit any checkpoints, sir,” Halvard revealed, quickly scanning through the list on his computer. “No retinal scans, fingerprint stations, voice checks—“

“He’s _in the building_ , people!” Quarles snarled, and now everyone in the room was listening alertly. “Why didn’t that trigger an alert? How did he get in without hitting a checkpoint? Find out!” The sound of dozens of keys being tapped immediately filled the room.

“Sir, the system doesn’t trigger alerts based solely on facial recognition—“ offered one tech, and Quarles pinned her with a look.

“As of right now, you _make_ the system do it,” he ordered Kenzie. “And someone find out how the h—l he got in here!”

“Sir,” Tuyen pointed out, indicating another view of a hallway, “Dr. Ward is approaching the exam room. Should we warn her?”

Unexpectedly Quarles paused before answering. Green had apparently heard her footsteps and positioned himself behind the entrance door. “Let’s see how it plays,” he decided.

**

Rachel was halfway across the exam room, reading over her latest report, when she noticed that the door leading to her office was closed, and had a chair propped under the knob. There was a squeak and click behind her as the door she’d walked through shut without her assistance, and slowly she turned around to face the barrel of a gun.

“Jeremy?” she asked in confusion.

**

“Should we go in?” asked Tuyen as they all held their breath.

“Let it play,” Quarles repeated, watching with interest.

“ _Identity check_ ,” Green demanded of Dr. Ward, the gun not wavering. “ _Challenge: cupcake!_ ”

“Uh, what?” Delu asked the room at large as he joined them. “Has that ever been a challenge?”

“Maybe he’s gone rogue,” suggested Leith rashly. Several of the other security monitors glared at him for his hyperbole.

“Get Dr. Zhu in here,” Quarles ordered.

“Green doesn’t like Dr. Zhu,” Delu reminded him, questioning her value.

“ _No one_ likes Dr. Zhu,” Quarles pointed out dryly. “But Green likes _her_ ,” he added significantly, nodding towards the screen.

**

“Challenge: cupcake!” Jeremy repeated coldly.

That was _definitely_ not one of the words Rachel had memorized anytime in the last month. She’d used it jokingly with Jeremy once, but he appeared to be deadly serious now, and she was completely blanking on any other context that might suggest a reply.

“Response, umm—“ Well, it wasn’t a real challenge, just something between the two of them, so maybe—“Response: chipmunk?” she tried.

Jeremy blinked, then lifted the gun off her.

**

“Some kind of private code?” Delu speculated.

“Inside joke,” Quarles corrected. “She likes jokes. Pull up their earlier sessions, find the source.” He glared at Leith, delegating that tedious task to him. On the screen, Green locked the outer exam room door and shoved another chair under its knob.

**

“Okay, what’s going on?” Rachel insisted. She thought much better _without_ a gun to her head. “When did you get back? Are you alright?” The last question was a little pointless as she could clearly see he _wasn’t_ alright.

After blocking the door he went to the window, which was frosted over for privacy and not even a real window, just a glass panel with a sunlamp above it. Rachel glanced at the security cameras in the ceiling corners and realized there was some kind of device attached to them that hadn’t been there before, probably disabling them. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were still being watched, however, from some less obvious surveillance device somewhere.

“Jeremy,” she repeated, trying to get his attention. “Okay, we’re secure, would you put the gun down?”

With only a brief hesitation Jeremy ejected the ammunition and set everything down on a table. Then he started pacing around the room, as though uncertain what to do next.

**

“He’s unarmed,” Dr. Zhu pointed out unnecessarily. “We should send the guards in now.”

Quarles rolled his eyes at her advice. “He hardly needs a _gun_ to be dangerous.”

“Ward’s got a panic button on her, right?” Delu remembered.

On the screen Dr. Ward stopped Green’s movements and he backed away from her skittishly. “ _What’s with the beard?_ ” she asked him in a light tone. “ _The mountain man look isn’t you_.”

“She doesn’t seem panicky to me,” Quarles observed with interest.

“He’s outside his parameters,” Dr. Zhu assessed. “We should send the guards in to subdue him. Before he hurts her,” she added, perhaps a bit lamely. It was hard to imagine she was actually concerned about Dr. Ward.

On the monitor, Green had his back to the wall and Dr. Ward was feeling his jaw. “ _You’ve got some swelling here_ ,” she noted clinically. “ _Did you lose a tooth?_ ”

“I don’t think he’s going to hurt her,” Quarles judged.

**

“Okay, I don’t really see it, was it a back molar?” Rachel worried, trying to see into Jeremy’s mouth as little as he would open it. “Did it get knocked out when someone hit you?”

“Overall five-point-seven-two,” he said instead, bouncing away from her. That was a pretty high pain rating for him.

“Okay, settle down, what hurts the most?” Rachel felt she was going to get seasick trying to stay with him, so she took his hands to still him. Jeremy flinched and she peered at his hands more closely, holding them up to the light. “Are those splinters under your fingernails?” she asked with alarm. Had he… clawed his way out of a wooden box? “Okay, we can get those out.”

She turned his hands over, examining the skin. “You’re dehydrated,” she decided. “Sit on the table.” He didn’t, though, but rather followed when she went to a cabinet and pulled out a large bottled of pale purple liquid. “Table,” Rachel reiterated, pushing him backwards until they reached it. “Drink this.”

“Are you upset with me?” he asked curiously, beginning to chug the beverage.

“I don’t like it when you get hurt,” Rachel tried to explain, examining a deep scratch on his neck.

“If I didn’t get hurt, you wouldn’t have a job,” Jeremy pointed out, and Rachel gave him an unimpressed look.

“Let’s not get philosophical here, buster,” she warned. She pulled a penlight from her pocket and clicked it on. “Okay, I’m going to check your eyes—“

In an instant Jeremy snatched the penlight from her hand, unscrewed it, and flung the components to various corners of the room. Rachel stared at him for a long moment until he seemed to realize what he’d done and looked vaguely uncomfortable. “Those nuclear bomb dismantling skills really come in handy, huh?” she finally said, dry but also slightly apprehensive about the intensity of his reaction.

Jeremy looked like he was going to explain, then changed his mind. “Sorry,” he finally said, hanging his head slightly. He hunched his shoulders, unconsciously trying to make himself smaller.

Rachel shook her head. “We’ll do it later,” she decided. “Drink your juice.”

**

“She’s going for the panic button,” Dr. Zhu predicted, as Dr. Ward turned away from Green and reached into her coat pocket.

“ _This contains zero percent juice_ ,” Green countered, reading the label of the bottle he held.

Dr. Ward’s panic button signal didn’t go off, however, and she pulled something else out of her pocket—a pen and small notepad. “ _Drink your artificial grape-flavored electrolyte supplement, then_ ,” she told him, scribbling on the pad.

Green leaned forward precariously to see what she was doing, then tried to pluck the pen from her hand. Fortunately she was a bit farther away this time. “ _Stop it, Suspicious Bob_ ,” Dr. Ward ordered with exasperation. “ _I’m just making a list of everything that’s wrong with you_.”

“ _It should be longer_ ,” Green observed, reading what she had so far.

“ _No kidding_ ,” Dr. Ward replied sarcastically.

“Suspicious Bob,” Delu repeated, mystified. “Is that some kind of code name between them?”

“More jokes,” Quarles dismissed.

**

“Okay, take your shirt off,” Rachel directed. “Malnourished,” she judged when she saw how much weight he’d lost. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Hershey bar, which his eyes fixed on immediately. “Here, I bought it this morning when I had a feeling it would be one of those days.”

Jeremy struggled with the wrapper due to his sore fingertips but refused to give it back for assistance; finally he got it open and popped a chunk in his mouth. “I’m not supposed to have caffeine,” he pointed out, now that he had it.

“Your doctor says it’s okay,” Rachel assured him distractedly, examining the recurring marks on his chest and back. He didn’t seem to mind being slightly manhandled by her. “Are those… _cigarette burns_?” she wanted to know.

When he didn’t answer she straightened up to look him in the eye and he shrugged a little, nibbling his chocolate bar. Missing tooth, splinters under his fingernails, greater sensitivity to bright lights than usual, lack of food and water, and now cigarette burns all over his body—together it was all adding up to a very ugly picture of what had been happening to Jeremy lately, and Rachel didn’t like it at all.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” she deadpanned to him.

He blinked at her, then replied, “That was _almost_ a joke,” with a strange mix of bone-dry sarcasm, bitterness, and a tacit acknowledgement of what she suspected.

**

“He must have been caught and tortured on his last mission,” Dr. Zhu deduced bluntly. “He’s been compromised. We shouldn’t have let him back in the facility.” The woman was no soul of compassion, but that wasn’t why Quarles employed her.

He gestured her and Delu off to the side. “His mission _was_ to be caught and tortured,” he revealed quietly. “And to feed the enemy misinformation. Then he was supposed to return here.”

Delu knew this, of course. “He’s not really acting like he failed,” he suggested tentatively. “Usually they’re more aggressive…” More aggressive than breaking into a secure facility they had no need to break into, and holding a gun on the person they liked best.

“Well, he’s probably just suffering after effects from the torture,” Dr. Zhu decided.

“Oh good, _just_ torture,” Delu commented dryly.

Quarles ignored them and stepped back towards the security monitors. “Have any alpha-level keywords come up on the communications array?” he asked the room at large. Of course he would have been alerted immediately of definite hits, but sometimes there were ‘maybes’ he didn’t hear about until the analysts were done with them.

“Several partial matches to ‘blue bonnet’ coming out of the Ukraine and Belarus in the last three days,” Leith reported. He had no idea what ‘blue bonnet’ could possibly refer to, of course; that was above his pay grade.

“Tell Analysis I want those reports ASAP,” Quarles ordered, after a significant look at Delu. If Green had been convincing enough, certain enemy powers would be heading down the wrong path for quite some time.

“Sir,” Halvard spoke up. “I found some footage of Green inside the building. It looks like he mostly avoided the visible security cameras, but we have a few hidden ones.” He nodded towards his screen, which showed an ordinary hallway view. Suddenly, the air vent in the corner of the image was carefully set aside and Green wormed his way out of the wall.

“Son of a—the _air vents_?!” Quarles exclaimed. “I thought they weren’t big enough for a person!”

Onscreen Green plastered himself against the wall as a group of people walked by. They glanced at him and one person greeted him as they continued on, not looking at all alarmed. Quarles pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Well, I-I guess they knew him,” Delu shrugged lamely. “I mean, _they_ didn’t know he hadn’t checked in. They probably thought it was a training exercise—“

“I know, I know!” Quarles snapped. That didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

**

“You said five-point-something,” Rachel reminded Jeremy.

“Five-point-seven-two,” he repeated helpfully. “But it’s now reduced to five-point-five-three.” Amazing what some chocolate could do.

“Good, I’ll get you more to drink,” she decided, taking the empty bottle from him. “You want more grape, or orange-flavored?”

“Orange. Do you have any protein?” Jeremy asked hopefully.

“Sorry, no,” she told him. “I can ask Jenny to get you some food—“ She turned and realized the chair was still under the doorknob. “If you don’t mind me breaking the perimeter.”

He gave her a long look, then decided he couldn’t handle it. “Later.”

“Okay.” Rachel scribbled on her notepad again. “I’ll want to get you on some IVs soon,” she warned, and he grimaced. “I know,” she agreed, “but it’s better than just scarfing chicken nuggets. Now, what hurts the most? Your fingers?”

Jeremy considered this as he polished off the chocolate bar. “My feet,” he judged.

Rachel hadn’t even considered his feet—he hadn’t been limping at all. Then again, he wouldn’t. “Okay, feet. Let’s get your boots off, then.” He leaned over to watch with interest as she struggled with the knotted, dirty laces. “Are you gonna freak if I get a pair of scissors?” she finally asked.

“Yes,” he told her, and he seemed serious.

“Well, got any suggestions besides a sharp object, tiger?”

Jeremy thought for a moment, then slowly brought his foot up to the edge of the table where he could reach it. It was not a painless action. He slid two fingers underneath the main knot and gave a sharp yank, snapping the lace. Then he put his foot back down and started on the other boot.

“Okay then.” Rachel loosened the laces more and started to work the boot off, interrupted by his hiss. “Sorry, sorry,” she told him, maneuvering more carefully. “Oh, G-d, Jeremy,” she exclaimed when she saw his foot. At first she thought he was wearing some kind of sock, then she realized it was actually his _skin_ that was discolored—bruised black and purple, with dried blood in rusty brown patches.

“Ow,” he observed.

Rachel winced more than he did as she tried to examine his toes delicately. “Some of them are definitely broken,” she decided, which didn’t really take a medical degree to deduce. “Is it possible you also have frostbite?”

“Yes.”

Rachel sighed. “Jeremy, we’re going to have to get you up to the hospital wing,” she told him. He didn’t seem to like that idea. “Buster, you are _seriously_ messed up,” she explained. “I’m afraid to have you take off your pants.” He seemed slightly… put out by her comment. “Okay, take them off,” she agreed. With help he managed to do it without putting his feet on the floor. His legs didn’t look as bad as his feet at least, but they were covered in scratches.

“Barbed wire,” he told her with a shrug.

“Did you crawl through it without _pants_?” Rachel wanted to know. Well, not really. “At least you’re up to date with your tetanus shots.” She tried to read his expression but it was more inscrutable than usual. “I’m gonna have to call someone,” she warned. “We can’t stay in here forever.”

Jeremy sighed and rubbed his face, an unusual gesture that made her realize how exhausted he must be, on top of everything else. Finally he nodded with resignation.

Rachel stood and patted his arm, hoping it was a less-damaged part of his body. Then she removed the chair blocking the door to the outer office and opened it. “Jenny, could you send for a gurney? I’m going to check Jeremy Green into the hospital wing. Multiple injuries.”

Jenny looked confused as she nonetheless submitted the request. “Jeremy Green hasn’t returned from his mission yet,” she reported.

Rachel leaned back into the exam room to check. “Well, he’s sitting on my table right now,” she shrugged.

“Okay then,” Jenny agreed.

****

Rachel knocked on the door to the hospital room before opening it and pushing her way in, trying to be somewhat quiet. Jeremy gazed at her impassively from the bed. “Are you awake?” she asked him.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to come back later?” she checked.

“Yes.”

Normally this would indicate she should leave now; but his tone suggested that wasn’t the case. “Do you want me to stay here now, _and also_ come back later?” she tried.

“Yes.”

“You’re very affirmative today,” she told him wryly, walking to the foot of the bed to grab his chart. “Pain level?”

“Zero-point-five-three,” he answered promptly, and she glanced up at him.

“The scale starts at one, tiger,” she reminded him.

“I feel good.” Of course, he didn’t look or sound like someone who felt good, but that was only to be expected.

A suspicion rose in Rachel’s mind and she turned to the front page of his chart. “They’ve got your pain meds pretty high,” she noted, sitting down in a chair next to the bed. “You must be feeling pretty loopy right now.”

“I feel like… a loop?” Jeremy tried, which basically answered her question.

“You want me to turn them down?” she offered.

“Yes,” Jeremy agreed. “Turn down the loops.”

Great, she could see this conversation was going to be even more incoherent than usual. “I don’t have to change anything if you feel good,” Rachel cautioned, thinking that perhaps he really wasn’t in the best frame of mind to decide right now.

“Turn it down,” Jeremy reiterated. “It dulls my senses.”

Rachel swiped her card through one of the monitors and keyed in a lower dosage of the liquid anesthetic running through his IV, then scribbled a note on his chart. “Okay, let me know when you feel different,” she told him. “I’m going to look at your hands now.” She started to unwrap the gauze around his fingers.

“We wouldn’t want your senses to be dull, would we?” she went on lightly. “Then you wouldn’t be able to figure out all my secrets!”

Jeremy sniffed at her. “You had pancakes for breakfast,” he decided.

“Nope.”

He frowned. “You smell like syrup.”

“I had French toast,” Rachel revealed. “With syrup. That’s pretty close.”

“No, it’s not,” he countered, with some frustration. He reached up to itch his nose, remembered he couldn’t because of his bandaged fingers, and tried scratching with his wrist instead, which didn’t work very well. He growled slightly.

“That painkiller wears off fast, doesn’t it?” Rachel commented knowingly. “Your fingers are healing well, we might be able to take the bandages off in a couple days. Let me see the other hand.” He sighed and squirmed as he held out his hand for her.

“So what have you been up to in here?” she asked conversationally, trying to distract him from the discomfort.

“Sleeping, talking to doctors and analysts,” he reported. He seemed interested in what she was doing, at least. “They said I couldn’t exercise.”

Only Jeremy would be keen to exercise when he couldn’t use his hands or feet. “That’s right,” Rachel confirmed. “ _I_ told them you couldn’t, until you’re better.” She hoped lending her own authority to it would prevent him from trying to do something anyway.

She wrapped his hand back up and put it down. “I need to check your eyes,” she warned him, keeping her hands where he could see them.

Clearly he didn’t like this idea. “No,” he tried, though without much hope that he would win.

“I checked them yesterday when you were sedated,” she pointed out, “and you _did_ have some retinal damage.” Like someone had been shining bright lights in his eyes for an extended period of time. “I want to make sure it’s healing.”

He sighed and leaned back against the pillows, then gave her a look.

“I’m going to do it before I leave here,” Rachel promised. “But I can check something else first.”

“One-point-five-two,” he responded flatly.

“Okay, you let me know if it gets worse,” Rachel instructed him. “Don’t want you to be _too_ uncomfortable.”

“I can smell the French toast now,” he told her as she moved her chair to the end of the bed. “You had sausage, too. And apple juice.”

“You can’t possibly smell the apple juice,” Rachel contradicted, turning back the blankets over his feet. Carefully she began to unwrap the bandages from one. “I was _sure_ you were going to lose a couple toes,” she informed him. “I had a whole set of new nicknames picked out for you.”

Jeremy propped himself up on his elbows to watch what she was doing. “Toes are important for balance,” he responded.

“Nine-Toe, I was going to call you,” Rachel claimed, turning to the other foot. “Or, you know, whatever number you ended up with.”

“I like ‘tiger’ better,” Jeremy decided, and she smiled a little.

“I’m not gonna say they look good, but they’re getting better,” Rachel assessed after a minute. “How’s the barbed wire scratches?”

“They itch.”

“Cigarette burns?”

“They itch, too.”

“Don’t scratch them,” Rachel warned. “I think they’ll heal up pretty fast, I bet you won’t even have any scars. So you can continue your career as an international underwear model with no problems.” Jeremy narrowed his eyes at her, suggesting he understood that was a joke but didn’t find it very funny. “Alright, what else is wrong with you?”

“I’m thirsty,” he complained.

“Psychological,” she replied, trying not to sound _too_ dismissive. “You’re getting all the liquid and nutrients you need from the IV solution. Sorry.” But that reminded her of another injury. “How’s the tooth? Or lack thereof. I think the dentist is going to take some X-rays today.”

Jeremy grimaced. “It’ll grow back on its own,” he stated.

Rachel rolled her eyes at his avoidance. “No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will.”

He seemed serious and she frowned. “No, it won’t, Jeremy. They don’t grow back in adults.”

“It’s happened before.”

Mentally Rachel flipped through his file, then pulled it out and flipped through it physically as well. “Jeremy, you’re not a salamander, you’re not going to grow something back that’s been removed,” she assured him. “Yeah, there’s nothing in your medical records about magical tooth regeneration, buddy.”

“It happened three years, two months ago,” he persisted calmly. “I lost a tooth in the field, and it grew back before I returned to the Center.” He seemed thoughtful. “That was a canine. A molar might take longer.”

Rachel stared hard at him. She couldn’t decide if he was serious, _thought_ he was serious, or was somehow just messing with her. “Well, the dentist is coming to take X-rays anyway,” she told him, which he wasn’t thrilled about. “If you grow a tooth back, I’ll come up with a new nickname for you.”

“Sharks continuously regenerate their teeth,” he informed her.

“Well, I’ll call you Sharky then.” She gave him a look. “We’ve reached the end of the list, tiger,” she pointed out. He knew what she meant and tensed uncomfortably. “Only one thing left to check.” She moved the chair back up beside him and waited for his response. “Are you getting bored in here?” she asked, feeling slightly guilty even though she was just doing her job. “You want some books or magazines?”

He shook his head. “I like sleeping.”

“What’s your pain level?”

“One-point-six-seven and holding,” he reported.

“Well that sounds good, let’s leave it at that,” Rachel suggested. There was a pause. “So. Are you gonna freak out if I get the penlight?”

He looked like he might say yes. “Could you sedate me first?”

She didn’t want to dismiss his concerns—she did not like to imagine what he’d been through, that could make him so upset when he barely flinched at injuries most people would be screaming over—but she didn’t see a lot of viable options here. “I really don’t want to, Jeremy,” she admitted. “Sedation messes up your whole system, that’s why we only use it with serious injuries.” Looking at his expression she started to cave, though. “But if you really think it’s necessary—“

“No, it’s okay,” he said suddenly. He swallowed hard, then coughed around his dry throat.

“I’ll get you a drink,” Rachel said, fetching some water from the bathroom. He really wasn’t supposed to have extra liquid, but a glass wouldn’t hurt him. “Here.”

He slurped it noisily through the straw, holding the cup awkwardly with his palms, seemingly grateful for the delay.

“Thanks,” he said when he was done, handing the cup back to her.

“Okay, let’s get this over with,” Rachel sighed. She moved to sit on the edge of the bed so she would be at the right height and his hand fell on her thigh. She quirked an eyebrow at him and his expression in return almost challenged her to object. Well, she couldn’t blame him, she decided; both her hands would be busy or he would’ve gone for one of them, she supposed. Slowly she pulled the penlight from her pocket and let him look at it, then clicked it on.

He shut his eyes, though she didn’t find it too difficult to hold one open, and he took deep, short breaths to calm himself. His hand twitched on her thigh but never clamped down. She switched to the other eye, then turned off the light and handed him a tissue to wipe up the moisture. “I can still see damage but it’s better than yesterday,” she reported, tucking the penlight safely out of sight. He nodded in acknowledgement, not meeting her gaze, and Rachel felt like she’d kicked his puppy.

“You gonna go back to sleep?” she finally asked him.

“Are you going to leave?” he countered, and she couldn’t tell if that meant ‘get out’ or not—she wouldn’t blame him if it did.

“Yeah, I should go work on my report,” she decided, taking a graceful out and starting to stand.

He stopped her with a slight pressure on her thigh. “Could you _not_ leave?” he asked instead.

Rachel searched his expression, which wasn’t very revealing, but she gave a slight smile anyway. “Sure, I can stay a little while longer. Can I sit in the chair?” He removed his hand so she could switch seats. “There. Are you gonna try to fall asleep now?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Don’t let me stop you.” It seemed like he was asleep almost as soon as he put his mind to it, which was a nice trick; she knew he had trouble sleeping normally, but the anesthetic helped a lot. She waited a few minutes to make sure he was really out, then quietly slipped away.

****

Rachel walked into Jeremy’s hospital room and gave him an expectant, unamused look.

“Good morning, Dr. Ward,” he said hopefully, but it wasn’t enough to get him off the hook.

She walked closer and looked at his face under the lights—it was sporting a few extra bruises that hadn’t been there the day before, and she shook her head at him slowly.

“Is something wrong, Dr. Ward?” he questioned.

“Don’t give me that ‘innocent’ routine,” Rachel told him. “I heard what you did yesterday. I do have other stuff to do than interface between you and humanity.”

“Like what?” he asked with genuine curiosity, and she rolled her eyes and snapped on some gloves.

There was a squeaking sound and a blond dental hygienist rolled a portable X-ray machine into the room, glancing nervously at Jeremy from behind it. His eyes narrowed sourly.

“You bit the dentist, Jeremy,” Rachel stated flatly. “You nearly bit off two of his fingers.” He didn’t look contrite. “Now _he’s_ getting a nice, long paid vacation on a tropical island, and _I’m_ here doing his job.”

“I felt threatened.” Rachel scoffed at this and took the bitewing from the hygienist, neatly attaching it to a metal circle. “If I bite you, will _you_ get a vacation?” he queried.

Rachel did not deign to answer this. “Open your mouth,” she instructed. She positioned the bitewing over his back molars. “Close your mouth.” Before she could remove her fingers completely he put his teeth down on one, not hurting her, but showing that he _could_. Rachel was unimpressed. “Don’t even,” she told him, and he let her go.

She adjusted the circle against his cheek and aimed the X-ray machine directly at it, then laid the lead cover over him. “We’re gonna take one on each side, and if they don’t come out right we’re gonna do it again,” she warned him. “So just chill.”

Jeremy closed his eyes and Rachel and the hygienist ducked into the bathroom to click the button on the machine. Then Rachel reappeared to move the bitewing to the other side of his mouth while the hygienist refocused the machine. The second X-ray taken, Rachel handed the bitewing to the hygienist and let her clean up. She was the same one who yesterday had witnessed her boss almost losing two fingers, and when Jeremy growled at her she fled instantly.

“Stop,” Rachel ordered with exasperation, pushing on his chest. “Why are you in such a bad mood today, buster?”

He sighed. “Two-point-zero-seven.”

“Ah.” Rachel swiped her card through one of the monitors and upped his pain meds slightly. “Well why didn’t you just say so, tough guy?” She scribbled a note on his chart. “What else is bothering you today?”

“I’m thirsty,” he responded immediately. “And my muscles are atrophying.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Rachel agreed, doing so. “But you’re just going to have to wait on exercising for a little bit longer.” She handed him the cup of water. “Are you getting bored? You want something to read?” She took his lack of response as a ‘no.’

“Well, I’ll check those burns,” she decided when he finished his drink. He leaned forward so she could slip the hospital gown off his shoulders, then watched with interest while she examined a few of the worst ones. “Healing well,” she admitted, continually amazed at the regeneration capacities of the agents.

Though she wasn’t for a minute buying the tooth thing.

“The orderlies give you a sponge bath?” she checked. He indicated yes. “You behave yourself for that?”

“It’s not threatening,” Jeremy claimed as she tucked him back in.

“How do you feel now?” Rachel asked. He looked more relaxed than when she’d arrived.

“Loopy,” he claimed. “Did you have pepperoni pizza for breakfast?” He didn’t seem to trust this observation.

“I did, actually,” Rachel admitted. “I had some leftover from dinner a few days ago. But that’s no great feat, pepperoni is pretty fragrant.”

Accepting the challenge, Jeremy looked her up and down. “The ink in your office printer is getting low,” he finally said, and Rachel’s eyes widened.

“Okay, Sherlock, how’d you know that?” she demanded, impressed.

“You have purple ink on your right hand,” Jeremy noted.

She waited a beat. “Gonna need a little more than that to connect the dots, tiger.”

“You’re writing a lot by hand,” he expanded patiently. “You only do that when the printer ink is running low and you’re trying to not print as much.”

“Very clever,” she judged.

She really didn’t have any reason to stay longer, though. “Well—“

“Aren’t you going to check my eyes?” Jeremy asked her.

Rachel frowned. “Does your head hurt? Is your vision funny?”

“Blows to the head necessitate retinal checks,” he replied unhelpfully.

Rachel decided she had better just take the opportunity while she could and moved to the edge of the bed, remembering to produce the penlight slowly. He flinched slightly but kept his eyes open for her. “Well, it looks like the damage is almost healed, and I don’t see anything new,” she observed, clicking the light off. She handed him a tissue. “Do you have any unusual pain or conditions since getting hit yesterday? Dizziness, blurred vision—“ The dentist had not been a robust man, but driven by blind panic he’d managed to get a few good whacks in.

“No,” Jeremy said. “But it’s okay to check them, if you have to.”

Rachel smiled a little bit as she grasped his meaning. He was _trying_ to be reasonable (though a certain dentist might disagree). And maybe he was trying to make her feel less bad about doing her job. She told herself not to project too far; but it seemed like he meant well by it.

“Are you gonna go back to sleep now?” she asked him.

“I don’t know,” he answered speculatively. “I feel like a spaceship.”

Raising an eyebrow Rachel double-checked the pain meds, but reducing the level would put them nearly back down to the dosage that had made him irritable. “Shall we go with the spaceship for a while, or would you rather be at two-point-whatever?” she offered.

“Do you have any chicken?” he asked instead, as if expecting her to produce some McNuggets from her pocket.

“No chicken for you,” Rachel told him. “You get Nutrient Solution Number Six for right now. You okay, or do you feel too weird?”

He gave this considerable thought. “I feel okay,” he decided. “I think I’ll go to sleep now.”

“Wise decision,” Rachel agreed. She waited until his breathing evened out, then slipped from the room.

****

The ringing phone woke Rachel from a sound sleep and she groped for it blindly, squinting at the screen. The caller ID said it was Jeremy and she sighed, willing herself to have patience before she answered.

“Jeremy, what’s wrong?” she asked, not sounding as patient as she had meant.

“Good morning, Dr. Ward,” he opened hopefully. That tone meant he knew he was doing something wrong.

“Jeremy.”

“What time will you be at work today?” he wanted to know.

Reflexively she glanced at her clock. “About eight AM, Jeremy,” she told him. “Five hours from now.”

“Could you come in now?” he asked, so innocent.

She wanted to say no, hang up, and mute the phone; they would take away his ability to call her directly if he abused it. But she was, after all, his doctor, and she told herself to have a _little_ compassion for him.

“Is something wrong with you, Jeremy?” she questioned. He’d made a remarkable recovery from his ordeal—even grown that tooth back, d—n him—and had recently moved back to his own room from the hospital.

“No,” he replied.

“Then no, I won’t come in now,” Rachel told him sternly.

“I mean yes,” he reversed.

She rolled her eyes. “Then there are other doctors at the Center right now who can see you.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” he said resolutely, and she could just picture his face—troubled, melancholy, stubborn. That was what got her—he was reaching out the only way he could, and she hated to slap him down, make him withdraw and stop interacting with her. Rachel had to be honest with herself, it made her feel special that Jeremy responded so well to her—but there was a flip side to that connection, and calls at three AM were part of it. The other, more serious thing was that she could never let herself get too pleased or complacent, she had to remember to respect the danger lurking below the surface that he couldn’t always control. The reminder chilled her slightly.

“Dr. Ward?” Jeremy prompted.

“Okay, I’ll come in now,” she agreed, and hung up.

**

She wore yoga pants and a hoodie, and brought some more professional attire and supplies with her—she had a private bathroom with a shower in her office, after all, so she could make herself presentable if Jeremy’s demands didn’t allow her to go back home soon. Maybe she could even knock off early today to make up for her extra hours. She just hoped she wasn’t creating a monster by acquiescing to him this time.

She still had to go through all her security checkpoints, of course, but no one batted an eye about the hour or her clothes. The light was already on in the outer office, though of course Jenny’s desk was empty, and with sudden trepidation she opened the door to her exam room.

Jeremy sat on the table, looking better than a three AM phone call warranted. “Good morning, Dr. Ward,” he greeted. She just shook her head and he jumped off the table to take her bag for her, setting it on the floor in her office and trailing her back to the exam room. “I brought you some coffee,” he bribed, handing her a cup.

Rachel took a large swig. “You already added sugar,” she noted.

“That’s how you like it.”

“Where did you get it?” she wanted to know, fortifying herself with more.

“The cafeteria. It’s always open.”

Rachel took one more sip, then set it aside and faced him. “Okay, tiger, what’s wrong with you?”

“My chest hurts,” he revealed, and Rachel frowned—none of his exams or tests had indicated any internal damage there.

“Take off your shirt,” she instructed. “Where does it hurt?”

“Here.” He pointed right to his heart.

“Describe it more,” Rachel told him worriedly, getting out her stethoscope.

“It was… tight, and hard to breathe, and my heart was beating fast,” he told her. “I felt really… bad,” he added, sounding concerned, which was even more alarming to Rachel.

“Did you have any pain anywhere else?” she questioned. He indicated no. “What were you doing right before this happened?”

“I was asleep,” he replied. “I woke up and everything was…” He trailed off, frowning deeply.

“Did you have a bad dream, right before you woke up?” Rachel asked, beginning to get an idea. He nodded silently. “Well, what you’re describing sounds like a panic attack,” she told him. Which in her opinion was better than a heart attack, but still. “Which is not unusual, given what you’ve just been through.” He glanced away, not exactly embarrassed but clearly finding this new obstacle inconvenient.

“Will it happen again?” he wanted to know. “Will it go away?”

“It’s not really my area of expertise, tiger,” she pointed out regretfully. “Dr. Zhu—“ He gave her a look and she stopped that line of thought. “It might be a one-off. It might happen again. It might happen some random time when you’re out in the field, if something triggers it.”

“That would be bad,” Jeremy understated. “I would probably die.”

“Well, I don’t think anyone ever really _died_ of a panic attack—although I guess it depends on what you’re doing when it happens,” she amended at his look. Pick any bold, tightly plotted movie action sequence, then have the protagonist suddenly paralyzed with anxiety at a crucial moment—that was how she pictured it, anyway. “There are coping techniques you can learn, ways you can talk yourself down, stop it at an early stage,” she suggested.

Jeremy sighed. There was a lot of emotion in that sigh, more than he could ever express in words or even articulate to himself.

“Well, now that I’m here and I’ve had coffee,” Rachel went on, more lightly, “I’m gonna do some paperwork. You want to sleep on the couch in my office for a while?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, hopping off the exam table.

“You let me know if it happens again,” Rachel warned him. “Come on.”


End file.
